“It’s what started all the trouble, only I didn’t know back then. I was a kid still, no one told me anything. But it’s why Nadia and my mom were fighting all the time.
“My mom tonight, first she told the gangbangers she didn’t know what they were talking about, only when they punched me again and my nose started to bleed, she went to get it. See, she’d hidden it inside the statue of the Virgin of Guadalupe over Allie’s bed. She—I should have told her, but I thought—I don’t know what I thought. I was just praying and praying that the gangbangers would leave.
“When they couldn’t find it, they said we had twenty-four hours to give it to them or the house would be burned down, or blown up, I don’t remember which. They left, out the front door. I just grabbed my French book and went out the back door, down the alley. I ran all the way to Ashland with Papi chasing after me, begging me to stop. But I found a cab right away and came to Vic’s place.”
“Your French book?” Mr. Contreras said. “Why the heck would you even be thinking about your studies at a time like that? And what about—”
“Vic gave me a twenty for an emergency.”
She opened the book to the back and showed us where she’d glued a piece of notebook paper over the verb tables to make a kind of pocket.
“Yeah, but that don’t explain—”
“Also, I put this inside.” Clara reached into the pocket and pulled out a set of folded papers, which she handed to me.
When I opened them, I found a letter with an autopsy report attached. I began to read—Classic pugilistic attitude absent . . . lack of smoke stains around nostrils . . . questions about cause of death led to decision to perform autopsy . . . charring . . . made it difficult to extract femoral blood sample . . . anterior aspect of right wrist (which survived fire intact) shows a 1- × ?-inch contusion.
I felt my blood congeal in my arms. Dynamite. Clara had been carrying dynamite to school with her every day as if it were her lunch.
“Did you read this?” I asked.
“I tried to,” Clara whispered. “I . . . They’re about Allie. How she died, I mean. The report came from some doctor in Iraq who saw her body after she died. That’s why Nadia and my mother fought. I think Nadia knew what was in the letter.”
“But—the journal was sent to Nadia as next of kin, and the doctor wrote to your mother?” I asked.
“Can’t you see the girl is worn out?” Mr. Contreras interrupted. “She don’t need you bullying her.”
“He’s right, you know,” Lotty said.
“I’m worn out, too, but we have to do this.” I pushed my fingers into my cheekbones as if to push back my own overwhelming fatigue. “If Clara, if her family, are going to be safe, I need to understand this tangled mess of documents. Who hid what. Why they hid them.”
“I think the Muslim lady sent the journal to Nadia because she was afraid if my mom knew about her and Allie she’d just burn everything. At least, Nadia said that was the reason.” Clara was still whispering as if it could keep the reality of her family’s torment at bay.
“Does your mother know you have these?” I asked.
Clara grimaced, bunching up her cheeks. “Maybe she guessed. See, Allie, Nadia, and me, we all shared a bedroom. After Allie died, Mamá, she created this whole shrine by Allie’s bed. In a way, it’s freaky to sleep in there, but it’s also comforting. I feel like Allie is there with me, you know.
“Anyway, after Nadia got killed, I came home one night, and my mom was praying in there. She ordered me out of the room, and I thought it was, well, you know, she wanted to be private while she prayed, maybe she wanted to ask Nadia to forgive her. But later, when I went to bed, I saw the Virgin wasn’t sitting flat on the base. So I went to put her back. And Mama had taken the bottom off and put these papers inside, except a bit of the paper was sticking out.”
“So you put them in your French book. Why?” I asked.
She hunched a shoulder. “I don’t know. It was . . . Nadia was dead, and Mamá had fought with her over Allie . . . I can’t explain it . . . I thought maybe if, I don’t know, if Mamá had listened to her, Nadia would still be alive. And I kept trying to decide if I should show the papers to you, if they were the reason Nadia was killed, although everyone said that crazy soldier shot her.”
“Victoria, that really is enough,” Lotty said. “I will call her mother, so the poor woman isn’t completely ravaged by grief, and then let’s get Clara someplace safe to spend what’s left of the night.”
“She can stay with me,” I said, “but only for tonight. I’m too visible a target for the people who came after her family and her.”
“Mitch could protect her,” Mr. Contreras huffed. He hates not being thought strong enough to protect a girl.
Lotty gave him what Max calls her “Princess of Austria” look: Do not argue with Royalty, back out of the room, keep subversive thoughts to yourself. Mr. Contreras subsided into a grumble.